


In the snow lands, amongst enemies

by Tyrelingkitten



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Opreversebang, Punk Hazard Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyrelingkitten/pseuds/Tyrelingkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the OPreversebang 2015.<br/>In collaboration with the lovely Mii who created a beautiful piece <a href="http://goldenweeking.tumblr.com/post/130320604993/here-was-my-submission-for-one-piece-reverse-bang">here</a>.</p><p>Pre-Punk Hazard arc. Law sets his plan in motion as soon as he makes a deal with Caesar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the snow lands, amongst enemies

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [sa-mu-uu](sa-mu-uu.tumblr.com) for beta-ing and holding my hand.
> 
> Thank you to [Mii ](https://twitter.com/munimunimuning/) for working together with me on this piece, cheering me on along the way and creating a gorgeous fanart.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Mention of animal cruelty, and drugs

 

When he saw the white furry blob of Bepo rolling down the hill through the periscope, Law released a sigh of relief and signaled Jean Bart to ascend the ship to the surface. Penguin and Shachi quickly readied the towels and Bepo’s jumper suit as they headed out of the bridge. The frigid wind whipped into their faces upon stepping out on deck, leaving phantom burns on their skin and stinging cracks in their too-dry lips. Despite knowing of the weather being many degrees below zero, some of his crew hadn’t had the foresight to throw on an extra coat and made slow, wobbly steps on the deck, shivering and complaining, “Damn you, Aokiji!” through chattering teeth.

 

A memory flitted past Law’s mind—an image of himself wading through thick snow with his short, bony legs as the murky snowstorm buried the lands in layers of white, of tears searing against his cold cheeks as his throat burned while he screamed with no accompanying sound reaching his ears until the silence spell finally disappeared. Only the howls of the arctic winds followed him on his journey out to safety.

 

Bepo had dived into the water to meet the ship halfway, climbing the rope ladder Jean Bart had thrown over the fenced terrace. “Captain~” was the first thing Bepo said when he finally got on deck, and crushed Law into a hug, rubbing his furry cheek against Law’s hair. “I’ve missed you so much. I thought they were going to kill me.”

 

“Bepo,” Law grimaced, crinkled his nose as the stink of wet, unwashed fur filled his nostrils. He quickly used Kikoku’s scabbard to push Bepo’s face away. “Enough, Bepo.” Out of everyone in his crew, Bepo and him had the longest history together. The three-day scout mission Bepo was carrying out as a curious white bear nosing his way around unknown territory, had been one of the few times they had spent being separated from each other.

 

Bepo dropped his hold on Law immediately and lowered his chin and ears, murmuring a forlorn but familiar apologetic, “Sorry, captain.”  

 

“So—Did you find it? The base?” Shachi threw a towel around Bepo’s back, roughly rubbing it to  soak all the water off the fur. “Hand me another one, Pengi.” Penguin gave him a second towel and went around Shachi to help him out on Bepo’s other side.

 

“Yes. It’s the old facilities.” Bepo didn’t seem bothered with his crewmates crowding around him to help him dry off. In fact, he looked quite comfortable, cold and drenched from head to toe, completely in his element with this weather. He batted the droplets from obscuring his eyes and went on all fours to shake off his fur, spraying everyone within three feet.  

 

“AUGHHH Bepo NO!” Both Penguin and Shachi shrieked in outrage and slapped Bepo’s head while Jean Bart wiped his face into Bepo’s jumper in retaliation.

 

“I’m sorry!” Bepo repeated with a lowered head.

 

“And?” Law prompted, dragging a hand across his face to wipe off the spray and—to his horror—found some of Bepo’s loose fur mixed in. “What else did you see?”

 

“Caesar has several troops guarding the perimeters 24/7. They work in shifts, each of them taking about 8 hours. Also they have these funny looking balloons helping them float. Some of them even rotate from this side of the island to the other one in the lava side. The facility looks like Dr. Vegapunk’s old lab; some of them were destroyed during the explosion while others were remodeled to fit sleeping quarters and mess hall. The only working facility is that huge block of building encompassing what’s supposedly the old chemistry lab, the research lab, and a hangar garage for vehicles. There are probably more mini rooms in that building but I couldn’t get a closer look from my hide out. Also… I couldn’t find the factory. Sorry, captain. They shot at me before I could get any closer, and I had to run into the mountains to shake them off.”

 

“That’s fine. The fact that we’ve confirmed that Caesar is hiding here is enough.” Law raised a hand to pat Bepo’s head, carefully untangling the wet fur under his ears. Bepo lowered his head further under the ministrations of Law’s fingers, releasing a low rumbling sound from the back of his throat. “I don’t expect the SAD factory to be easily found without sneaking past him. He’s gotta have it somewhere closeby.”

 

“Then how are we going to infiltrate the base and destroy it without getting ourselves killed? I’m pretty sure that Caesar has something up his sleeve.” Shachi dragged one of the Bepo’s meaty arms from caging the captain into another blissful hug and thrust it into the orange jumper.

 

“Obviously,” Penguin said as he tried stuffing one of Bepo's feet into a boot. "It must be somewhere underground. We need to get in closer somehow. Na-- Jean Bart, gonna steer the ship closer to the pier?”

 

“Sure,” Jean Bart shrugged. “As soon as Cap orders me to, yes. Why?” he smirked, “Seat is too frigid for your butt? Scared that it’s gonna fall off?”

 

Penguin spluttered between a scoff and a huff. “No! Of course not! I just mean that since we’ve confirmed he’s there on the island we might as well begin our raid-”

 

“No,” Law interrupted before Penguin could continue. “I have a different idea.”

 

“Different idea?” Penguin clamped his mouth shut when the captain fixed him with a look; a look that reminded him of when two years ago, when the captain had ordered them to submerge and head for the Marineford in the midst of the war—of the time when Law cut out hundreds of hearts from rival pirates and personally delivered them to the marines in exchange for the protection sailing under the Shichibukai title.

 

“Change of plans,” Law said and squatted, pulling out a crudely drawn map from the back of his jeans and spread it out on the terrace deck with his crew forming a circle around him. With a finger he started pointing out the only known places of the islands at the beginning of the New World. “Here’s what going to happen next-“

 

He didn’t give them all the details of his plans, preferring to keep them a secret in case things go awry, and only highlighted the essential parts of the plan—first of which was taking out the factories that made up the majority Joker’s business, which would lead to angering Joker’s biggest customer, Kaidou, who will then direct his rage to Joker and finish him off for good. Second, the rest of the Hearts Pirates should disassemble all the other factories that were not in Punk Hazard and Dressrosa; those would be Law’s responsibility. And third, once all this was done, they would meet up in the Zou and continue their journey for Raftel through the New World.

 

The only thing not fixed in Law’s plan was that gaining Caesar’s trust first and doing things discreetly under Donquixote’s nose wouldn’t guarantee his safety despite having the Shichibukai’s title to protect them from other pirates and marines from attacking. But Law kept those misgivings from his crew; no need to drag them into the line of fire. With this plan, Law was basically drawing a huge bullseye on their backs for Donquixote to spear their attacks through—unless Law separates himself from the crew somehow to deal with Doflamingo personally. By then, his crew should hopefully be far, far away from those mini-islands near the Dressrosa kingdom, out of reach from Donquixote’s many associates.

 

Convincing his crew to leave him behind in order to work into Caesar’s graces while they sailed off was one of the hardest things Law had ever done. For himself, it wasn’t hard; but his crew was simply too attached to him to give him up for a solo mission. Bepo had teared up and had tried to add back-ups in almost every motion of Law’s plan. His crew had a hard time trying to leave him behind. It was only with Jean Bart and Shachi’s business-like approach to the plan that Law could finally see them off.

 

“He is the captain,” Shachi had pointed out. “Regardless of our opinions of this matter, the captain has already set his mind on doing it anyway.”

 

“I was once a captain myself,” Jean Bart had said in his usual solemn voice, the one he used when he told the crew about his time before he was captured and the time he ended in captivity. “There are just some things that only the captain can do. Facing the seed of Joker’s business head-on is one of them.”

 

That night before they set off around Donquixote’s islands, Bepo had drawn Law crude maps on a piece of paper. One depicting the center of Dressrosa’s capital and the connected island Green Bit, another his findings of Punk Hazard and one rather empty-looking map of Zou of where the Hearts Pirates plan to hide out. Bepo had murmured little anecdotes he could remember from studying navigation books and his own scouting observations, one paw shading the islands while the other one keeping the paper from moving around, his feet kicking back and forth in the air. With Law using Bepo as a back pillow, the motions of Bepo’s legs moving around had lulled Law into a dreamless nap.

 

* * *

 

His crew dropped him a few meters from the cluster of icebergs blocking the path toward the shore. They had wanted to put him closer to the facility, but due to cautionary reasons the crew allowed him to step off the ship away from their target’s sight, trusting that he would make it to the shore on his own with his Devil Fruit powers. They coerced a promise from him to not overdo it with his powers, and if the plan was seriously going wrong, contact them as soon as possible.

 

Once his boots sunk into the thick snow, Law turned on his heels to make the trek towards Caesar’s research facility. His crew called out their goodbyes with Bepo crying into Penguin’s shoulder and Law only held out his Kikoku to wave them off. Facing them would do nothing except drag out the dramatics, until one of them disobey his orders to follow him to Caesar and mess up his plan. There’s no need for that to happen, he thought grimly and set his lips together in a flat line of determination. After all, this wasn’t _their_ fight—it was his own; one he had been plotting since many years ago. Soon it would no longer be a far off dream but an actual reality he would set the motions to.

 

The feathered collar tickled his jawline and his neck as he made his way across the rocky paths of floating ice patches and icebergs. He pulled his hat down a little lower to shield his eyes from the whirling snow and the biting wind, breathing clouds of white through his mouth, the tips of his nose already turning red from the cold, and he finally calculated the distance between the rocks he’s standing on and the shore at the end, before deciding to speed up his trek towards solid land.

 

When he landed ashore, he wasn’t surprised to find gun barrels shoved into face. The guards had noticed his approach and were awfully nice to wait for him to land close instead of shooting him down while they had the chance. From Law’s vantage point he could make out the gear they were all equipped in, beside the balloons helping them float. The guards were all in hazmat gear, covered from head to toe meant to protect the wearer within from outside forces like the cold, the plague… or the poisonous gas still apparently lingering in the atmosphere of Punk Hazard.

 

“Who are you? What’s your business coming here?” One of the guards demanded.

 

Law took note of their feet bobbing up and down in the snow without the slightest movement of the knee or the twist of an ankle. Nerve damage? Legs frozen off? Amputated? Limps? Bepo had recounted the guards using floating balloons to move. At first he had assumed the balloons were used because they made it easier to trek the thick snow instead of wading through it, but now seeing them up close, he suspected their legs were most likely unusable. “I am Trafalgar. Bring me to your boss.”

 

“This is forbidden property. How do you know he would be in?” One of the guards standing right in front of him asked.

 

“The fact that this is forbidden property makes me certain he is in right now.”

 

“How did you get here? The logpose shouldn’t be able to react to the island.“

 

“I walked.” Law curled up one end of his mouth in a smirk.

 

“Like that is even possible in the New World.” One of the guards scoffed. “What do you want from the master?”

 

“A simple request. I’m not obligated to tell you the details.”

 

“Don’t move, Trafalgar.” Several of the guards floated closer. One of them leaned closer at him, the barrel of the gun nearly grazing Law’s chin, then hesitated. “Wait... you look familiar…”

 

Law resisted the urge to roll his eyes and used the back of hand to move the gun away from his throat. “I don’t have time for chitchat. Either you bring me to your master or I’ll force you to take me there.”

 

He was about to pull up ROOM and cut those people up when a scuffle behind the front guards screamed, “STOP! NOO, DON’T FIGHT HIM. He’s Shichibukai!”

 

“Shichibukai?” Startled, the rest of the guards lowered their guns and started speaking to each other at the same time. “Does the world government know we’re here? Where’s your crew? What’s a Shichibukai doing all the way over here? Did they know we’re alive?”

 

“Bring me to your master immediately.” Law suppressed the irritated huff and erased the ROOM base from his palm.  

 

This time the guards didn’t protest, instead they scrambled to lead him awkwardly towards the base, hopping and bobbing around in the floating balloons tied around their legs. One of them was already trying his best to run ahead to warn their master of Law’s arrival.

 

The walk toward Caesar’s facility took longer than Law would have liked, but the slow pace had helped him put together a list of observations. The guards were also extremely protective of this master. There were crates stacked onshore beside a docked tankard which meant they weren’t completely cut off from the world and probably needed to get food and clothes imported.

 

Everywhere he looked, the land was covered in layers of white. But Bepo had mentioned there was a section of the island where it was very hot—too hot to cross over—with lava and fire spitting all over the place. Most of the original facilities were buried underneath the pile of snow, save for three or four divisions.

 

He needed to know more about Punk Hazard. Still no obvious signs of where SAD could be produced.

 

* * *

 

The guards brought him straight to Caesar, taking twists and turns in the hallway before leading him to a larger chamber that served as a library, a bar, a living room and apparently a small chemistry lab. Law flicked a cursory glance around the chamber, noted the sterile floor, the frozen walls and the woman huddled over the large bar counter stacked with many books and newspapers. She had only glanced over her shoulder to watch him enter, the thick, round glasses glinting in the limelight of the desklamp.

 

Caesar was already looming in his seat, with wisps of gas rising and falling around him, worn over his body like an animated, ghostly coat. Caesar gestured to the seat across his, “Welcome, Trafalgar. What can I do for you?”

 

Law sank into the chair and let Kikoku rest beside him.

 

“A place to stay.” Law paused, taking his time to lean back on the chair and cross his arms. He didn’t expect Caesar to give him leeway to his whole facility right away. That man was too shrewd to take everything at face-value, preferring to hide whatever dirty works Joker had him tasked with. So he might have to be ready for anything Caesar would throw his way.

 

“You want to stay at Punk Hazard?” Caesar asked slowly. That infuriating smile on his face didn’t waver.   

 

“It was a lot of work to get an island that doesn’t get caught by a log. Seeing as it’s a former secret government facility,” Law began. “Even now there should be traces left of government research in here. If I can freely walk around the facility and the island, then that’ll be fine. I’ll be useful to you as well. We won’t be asking each other boring questions. Of course, you’re not to tell anyone I’m here.” Law gave him a grim glare. “That includes Joker.”

 

The edges of Caesar’s ever-present smirk froze. “How come you know that?”

 

“Would you rather have some unknowing amateur barging in here?”

 

Caesar threw his head back to laugh aloud, “Shulololo!”, his voice sounding hollowed out in the chamber too huge to contain it. “I see we’re of the same kind after all. I can’t trust you, but there might not be harm in it. Right Monet?” Caesar was on his feet, the cloud of gas curling around on the floor, as he turned to the woman at the desk.

 

On closer inspection, Law finally realized what she was wearing. No ordinary human being would survive the current temperature in a short, sleeveless dress.

 

Even with the Devil Fruit having cured his illness, it was no miracle fruit that would instantly react to the weather and create some kind of insular cocoon to keep his body warm in cold weather and cold in hot weather. Whoever this Monet was, she appeared formidable.

 

“From North Blue, the Surgeon of Death,” Monet said, reading off whichever source she had found on her desk as she scribbled in her notebook. “Ability—Ope Ope fruit. A doctor, eh?” Monet paused her feathered pen and turned around to look at Law over the rim of her round glasses. “This island has many former prisoners who were immobilised by poisonous gas. Can you,” her brown eyes glinted, “heal them?”

 

Law didn’t answer her immediately. There were too many unknown variables. Was she testing him? Will his ability to heal these ex-prisoners grant him a free ticket into their lair? How much did she know about Caesar and his connection with Joker?

 

“If I succeed in healing them, will you let me stay and allow me free range over this island?” Law asked and flicked a glance to Caesar and then to Monet. They were both eyeing him with unreadable expressions on their faces before exchanging a look with each other.

 

Caesar’s smile turned pointier than before. “Of course. I’ll let you stay here.” He paused, to point his finger at Law. “In exchange for that, you’ll give legs to my subordinates. That sounds nice and all, of course, but-” Caesar loomed over Law, the gas coat encircled Caesar’s body faster, “Since you are stronger than me and I’m the _boss_ of this island, if you want to stay here I need a little bit of insurance.”

 

“I don’t plan on causing you harm. What do you want me to do?”

 

“How about this, Trafalgar Law? I want to entrust my dear secretary Monet’s heart to you.” Caesar shifted his glance to Monet. ”Is that okay, Monet?”

 

“Yes.” Monet pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “That’s fine.”

 

“In return,” Caesar’s dark eyes pinned Law in his seat, “Let me keep your heart! And that’s a deal!” Caesar smirked. “As long as we have each other by the balls, you can’t do anything bad. And I feel safe. SHULOLOLOLO!”

 

To think Caesar Clown would come up with these conditions to save his own hide--

 

Law weighed in the pros and cons for releasing his heart in Caesar’s custody and keeping the secretary’s own as form of trust and not-yet-trust. On one hand, Law would rather not give Caesar an advantage holding his heart prison—what if Caesar decided to crush it before Law reached his goal, eventually killing Law in one swift move?

 

But on the other hand, Law could practically taste the revenge nipping at the back of his tongue—sour and sweet—he was so close to his goal. There was no way Law was going to back down. If this was the only way to get access into Caesar’s lab then Law should do it, he should be able to sacrifice his heart...

 

...The irony of his situation as captain of the Hearts Pirates.

 

“All right.” Law decided. “Deal.”

 

“Monet, dear. I’m sorry for disturbing your writing.” Caesar wiggled his fingers to beckon his secretary, “Come here. Let’s make this exchange as quick and painless as possible.”

 

The sensation of pushing the case of his heart out of his chest should have been horrible, like actually ripping it out of his body, cutting off the vessels and bleed all over the place. But all Law could feel was his breath stuck in his throat and an odd poke in his chest—a twinge, a missing beat—before the feeling disappeared. As if nothing out of the ordinary happened; a hiccup in passing.

 

Monet looked unimpressed as well when he shoved the case of her heart out of her body and caught it in his palm. No hint of discomfort except for a gasp and then nothing. Law kept his face impassive as he opened up his coat to put Monet’s heart inside one of his many pockets.

 

Monet smirked, raising a hand to cover her mouth in a mock shy gesture, “We can joke around about having each other’s hearts for safekeeping.”

 

“Now you can have a look at my subordinates and heal their legs.” Caesar pointed with his thumb to the door Law had entered. “Monet, would you be so kind as to show Trafalgar Law the way around here? He can start immediately with saving my dearest subordinates’ legs.”

 

“Certainly, Master.”

 

* * *

 

The walk around the facility was shorter than Law had anticipated. Monet showed him the necessary divisions—Caesar’s lab, the sleeping quarters, the kitchen supply room, the toilets...

 

None of the divisions appeared to be what Law was looking for, but he had counted the many doors along the way, and Monet hadn’t bothered to open any of them for him to see. He should check each of them out without the secretary trailing him.

 

The halls weren’t as heavily guarded as the outside. During their walk they had only passed four guards, still dressed in the yellow hazmats, greeting Monet with utmost respect, and a promise to a delicious meal later that night.

 

“You’re rather quiet, Trafalgar Law.” Monet was the first to speak up during their walk. They hadn’t said anything at all since they left Caesar behind. “Don’t you have any questions you want to ask?”

 

“... No.” Law gave her a quick glance, “I’m not interested.”

 

“But I am.” Monet’s fingers made no attempt to hide her grin. “Interested, that is. What’s a Shichibukai like you doing here, travelling all alone into this island?”

 

Law’s grip on Kikoku tightened as he answered Monet. “Vacation. I’m taking a break.”  

 

“From piracy?”

 

”Yes.”

 

“And your crew? Where are they now?”

 

Law glanced at Monet to see her expression. Her eyes were wide in curiosity and her smile was amused.  “... Off on their own,” Law finally said.  

 

“Just like that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Pity. I’d like to meet your crew.” Monet hummed, walking briskly ahead to push open the door on the right, entering in what looked like a small sick room. “Here are the medical files Master had managed to salvage from the explosion. You may call upon them to check their condition yourself.” She turned on her heels to give him another smile. “Of course, when you begin your treatment, Master would like to be nearby to see how you would treat his subordinates.”

 

“That’s fine.”

 

“If you need anything, call me.” Monet pressed a denden mushi into his hands and with a secretive smile she walked off, back to Caesar’s office.

 

Law had done his best not to grimace at the hand that lingered too long on his and watched her exit the room with suspicion. Once she disappeared around the corner, he finally decided to look around.

 

It was a small room, equipped with a desk and files stacked high upon it. A small round window at the wall only showed snow piling outside the window banister. There were no pictures hanging against the walls. No slightly-yellowed diplomas or notices to indicate the room was ever used as a sick bay of sorts. No file cabinet for administration purposes. A case of test tubes and beakers sat in the far corner, completely layered under the dust and cobwebs. So in conclusion, this might have been a cleaning closet or a storage room before the explosion four years ago and Caesar repurposed it into a small forgettable room filled with medical files.

 

There was a surveillance denden mushi in the corner, though. The snail narrowed its eyes at Law, slowly crawling from the ceiling to remain rooted in the corner wall where it could see everything, patiently transmitting the scene to the security office.

 

Law glanced away from the den den mushi quickly before the security team got suspicious of his staring and deliberately turned his back to it. He took a seat at the desk and grabbed the medical files to look busy.

 

He had noticed a few surveillance den den mushi crawling the walls in the hallway but none outside. None yet at least.

 

Despite having an island all to himself, hiding underneath the supposed forbidden banner of both the World Government and the Marines—an island that can only be accessed through dangerous snooping in the underground community—Caesar still made use of the surveillance unit inside the building. Clearly, the scientist was distrustful of everyone including his own subordinates. But despite that, Caesar seemed to care for them, enough to request them to be healed under the guise of contract.

 

That meant, first, Law needed to gain Caesar’s trust. Getting these former prisoners healed up was the top priority. Later, he could decide on how to search the island without drawing suspicion on his person.

 

* * *

 

“You mean to tell me they can’t be healed?”

 

Law shook his head, “No, they can’t.”

 

Caesar’s smile was trembling at the edges. “Why not? Aren’t you a doctor? What kind of nonsense were they teaching you at school saying they can’t be healed?” He narrowed his eyes into angry slits that resembled a snake on the prowl, “You mean, _you_ can’t heal them.”

 

Law kept his face impassive. “The poison from four years ago was very effective. Your subordinates should’ve died upon inhalation. I suspect those who have survived weren’t that close to the explosion to be fatal. After talking to some of your guards, I’ve narrowed down the condition to be _organophosphate-induced delayed neuropathy_.”

 

“So? Can’t you just-,” Caesar waved his hand around impatiently, asking, “Can’t you just get the nerves and muscles to work? Like some medication? Some drug?”

 

“I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker.” Law sighed. “Even if I give them some medicine, it’s years too late for all of them.”

 

Law clenched his fingers into a fist to resist the urge to rub his temples. “I had checked a few of your subordinates earlier. Had their body scanned. They seem fine for the most part. The problem is that the neurons of their spinal cord that connect the motor skills of their lower limbs with the central nervous system are defective.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know already, Trafalgar Law.” Caesar grumbled. “What are you going to do about them? Will you cut the nerves and reconnect them? Will you give them a shock to awaken the legs? Give them crutches to walk with? Tell me something useful!”

 

“It’s too late for that.” Law pointed out again.

 

“Yes, no matter about that! So what’s the solution? Do you need to create a new drug? If so, you’re on your own, Trafalgar Law. I’m working on a tight budget here. Don’t expect me to pay for all your services, okay?”

 

“I have a solution for this.” Law paused. “At least several solutions, but this one is the only one I CAN do without touching any of your budget.”

 

Caesar immediately looked interested. “Oh?” He steepled his fingers together, tapping the pads of his fingertips together in excitement. “Tell me more, Trafalgar Law.”

 

“While working in that office you’ve given me, I saw some animals wandering the hills.” Law began.

 

“Yeah, what about them?”

 

“I need them caught.”

 

“So? What do you need them for?”

 

“I’m going to try something out-”

 

“Trafalgar Law, I don’t have time for your guessing games. Don’t patronize me, Shichibukai.” Caesar snarled.

 

“I wasn’t finished talking.” Law suppressed another urge to sigh. “I’m a pirate surgeon foremost in my profession. Which means to say that my solution is to cut people and stitch some body parts together.”

 

Caesar stared at him, his eyes wide and he stopped playing with his fingertips. “You mean to say… they will be using animal legs to walk?” Caesar grimaced at the idea but gradually his disgusted face relaxed into wonder, interest and eventually excitement. “Well what are you waiting for? Let’s herd everyone here and give them the promise of walking legs. Monet, would you please?” He wiggled his fingers at his assistant. “We’ll make it a grand announcement and open hunting season.”

 

Monet pushed the chair back to stand up and took off her round glasses. “What about the animals in the freezer room?” she asked. “Surely something can be done to unfreeze their bodies?”

 

“Oooh, that’s actually brilliant!” Caesar then leered at Law. “Is it possible to use them? We have a whole storage of frozen animals from several years back.”

 

“No. Give me the live animals. Those are better.” Law finally allowed himself to smirk. “Fresh meat.”

 

* * *

 

Explaining the procedure to Caesar’s subordinates in laymen terms and glossing over the actual surgical process had been exhausting. Getting them to cooperate was surprisingly easy, though. It involved Caesar shedding tears and sobbing in his hands while he talked to his subordinates about a future where they could walk, could run and sprint. Law had glanced at Monet, expecting her to be part of what Law could easily see as a charade, but she remained blank-faced behind Caesar, keeping her presence as low as possible, enough to blend in the background.

 

Law drew up a schedule where he would operate the former prisoners in groups of five, four days a week interspersed with break days in between. Having a Devil Fruit like the Ope Ope no Mi was, although very convenient for a surgeon, too taxing on his body once he started performing serious operations like transplanting non-human limbs to human bodies. Caesar didn’t need it spelled out to him as a Devil Fruit user himself, but Law preferred to keep his dwindling strength a secret. What little remained of his strength after the operation, Law would preserve it and recuperate, in case Caesar decided to back-stab him.

 

“I-is this going to hurt, doc?” His first patient stammered.

 

“Not one bit.”

 

“D-don’t you need to give me narcotics?”

 

“I assure you, I’m at my best when I start cutting.” Law unsheathed his blade slowly. “It will be over before you know it.”

 

The screams filled the room as soon as Law sliced his first patient across the waist.

“MASTEEERRRRR!”

 

The goat strapped on the second operation table, had watched the procedure with wide eyes, thrashed against the bindings, rolling its neck around in an attempt to wiggle out of the neck strap, all the while shrieking along with the terrified human screams. Law swiftly cut the goat in half and switched its lower limbs for the human ones.

 

“Isn’t it better to get them to calm down first before you cut my dear subordinates up?” Caesar asked sweetly while he hovered behind Law. “Blood could gush out any minute now. What if he dies of blood complications? My heart is hurting, just seeing my dear subordinates in pain.”

 

The ghostly trails of Caesar’s coat brushed along Law’s ankle and trailed his calf.

 

“A bit of blood rush will actually help their new legs to accept the body.” Law said while he took his time to attach the goat limbs to his flailing patient’s waist. He made sure to align the blood vessels properly, fit the spinal cord into the hollowed space in the back and sealed the separated parts with his powers, adding stitches in case movement would disalign his hard work. He then finished off his handiwork with bandages around the seam where human and non-human parts joined.

 

Everything looked good so far, no blood spurting out from the cut, no guts spilling onto the bed-

 

-until the patient finally blacked out.

 

Caesar poked the arm of his subordinate, “Is he... dead?”

 

By then, even the goat had stopped bleating and was letting out coughing whimpers until it too, passed out. Their combined screams had left Law’s ears ringing.

 

“No, he’s very much alive. Just passed out.” Law tore off his gloves and chucked it into a nearby bin, turning to Monet as he instructed, “You can carry him off to the hospital ward or his bed, wherever. Make sure someone is around to keep an eye on his condition. Bring in the next patient.”

 

Monet raised her eyebrows at him, and tilted her chin up at him challengingly. “The nurses can do it just fine. Boys~,” She beckoned the cowering assistants Caesar had graciously offered to Law before the operation,and ordered them to carry out the first patient. They quickly moved away from the corner in which they had pressed themselves into when Law erected ROOM and began his amputation, carefully transferring the brethren onto a stretcher, redressing the operation table with a new sheet, and pushing both patient and goat out of the room.

 

The next patient was ushered inside and onto the operation bed. His whole body was shaking, his eyes wide in fear, and whimpers escaped his throat before Law even started pulling on a new pair of latex gloves.

 

“Master,” he whimpered and looked up hopefully at Caesar. “Please… I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this. I’m fine with the balloons. I’m fine with not having functioning legs.”

 

“But this is going to help you walk again.” Caesar patted the patient’s hand, one of the tendrils of his coat curled around his wrist in comfort. “Don’t worry. I’m right here watching the procedure. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”   

 

The next animal, a wild deer, was wheeled in, thrashing against the straps holding it down and shrieking as loud as it could. It managed to kick Law in the side when Law stepped closer to wheel the deer beside the other operation table. Law breathed out a grunt, and cut the deer at the base of its neck first before focusing on the human patient who would wear the body from now on.

 

By the time Law finished with the last patient of the day, sweat clung to his skin, his head was spinning a little too fast and his hands were shaking. Law had overdone it with keeping ROOM up for hours with only short water and toilet breaks in between.

 

His muscles trembled as he peeled off his gloves, and then trashed the gloves. He breathed in slow and shallow, his lungs hurting, and he pressed his lips together in a fine line. As he reached for Kikoku beside the operation table, he stumbled and quickly braced the bed.

 

It was a good thing Caesar wasn’t around to witness him struggling.

 

Caesar had lost interest in him as soon as Law was finished bandaging his patient, wheeling the last patient with his new legs out of the operation room, and put on another dramatic show for the rest of his subordinates who were waiting outside with bated breath.

 

“Need help?”

 

Law whipped his head up in surprise to find Monet standing at the entrance. Why was she still here? Hadn’t she followed Caesar outside?

 

She looked at him with curiosity but hadn’t even moved an inch to offer him help.

 

Ignoring his headache and the rising shame, Law pushed himself away from the bed, inhaling one long breath and quickly rearranging his face into an impassive expression. “No. I’m fine.”

 

He rested Kikoku against his shoulder as he passed Monet.

 

“We’re having stew tonight. Come eat with us, Trafalgar Law.” Monet said, rushing to follow him on his heels. “It’s the least we can do with you trying to help these former prisoners.”

 

“No thanks.”

 

Law felt wary as she persisted, “Maybe another time, then?”

 

“I hate crowds.”

 

“Interesting!” Monet chuckled. “I’ll send dinner up to your room. Do you know where it is? Should I escort you?”

 

What was she playing? Law shot her a suspicious glance which she happily ignored.

 

“I know where it is.”

 

“Have a good night then, Law.”

 

Law grunted, didn’t bother to return the pleasantries, stalking off.

 

It’s only when he couldn’t hear the click click sounds of Monet’s shoes echoing the halls behind him, did Law heave out a sigh of relief and casually scanned the walls for any surveillance snails. He looked around for anyone lurking nearby and quickly turned on his heels to take a different route, away from the sleeping quarter Caesar had assigned him.

 

He took care not to make any noises that would echo through the hallway and carefully pried open the doors, left and right, to peer inside. He gave each room a cursory glance and drew a mental map to orientate himself, identifying them to be an unused office room, a cleaning supply room, a freezer room, an empty jail room, and another mundane room he couldn’t identify at first glance. A rough sketch of this side of the wing started to form in his mind. He had taken about a half hour to sneak a look until he decided to abort his mission for the night. He would have to come back again some time later to search more thoroughly.

 

Law quickly headed back to route that led to his room.

 

One of the former prisoners was standing at the door, one hand holding a tray with dinner, still steaming hot, while the other hand was poised to knock on the door.

 

“Oh! Trafalgar Law! I thought you were in,” the man smiled. “Here! We saved you some dinner. It’s curry and beef stew. The best!”

 

“Thanks,” Law bit out, grabbed the bowl, gave the errand runner a nod and shut the door in his face as soon as he entered his assigned room.

 

He eyed the food with suspicion, scrunching his nose, taking in a whiff of pepper and curry. The food didn’t look out of the ordinary except it wasn’t prepared by someone he trusted. Steeling himself, Law set the bowl down in the farthest corner of the room, ignoring his hunger for a while longer and quickly busied himself with sketching a map of the hallway of the rooms he had peaked in earlier.

 

When he could no longer ignore the hunger, Law searched for the kitchen, raided the food pantry for biscuits or noodles and eggs, ignoring the huge collection of rye and white bread, and made himself a quick dinner. Halfway through his dinner, his throat refused to swallow any more noodles. He wrapped up his dinner in plastic wrap, sneaked in some more biscuits and headed back to his room, passing the two guards who had the graveyard shift. They didn’t look at him twice after he nodded to them and blatantly hugged his dinner with one arm.

 

Sleep didn’t come as he laid out on the bed, still completely dressed in the coat he had worn since he left his crew, hugging Kikoku to his chest. The mattress was a little lumpy compared to a living and breathing polar bear like Bepo.

 

And it smelt of smoke, dust, and rat urine.

 

Law spent the night staring at the cracks in the ceiling, counting the dust that still lingered in the room and closed his eyes every now and then, before shaking himself in full alert as soon as he heard something—either the murmurings of the night crew passing his door, the howling wind outside the window, or the occasional pitter patter sound of the water pipes in use along the ceiling and the walls.

 

He shifted on the mattress, a little uncomfortable with the thin sponge feel, and thought of the nights he used to sleep in more difficult places like on the hard ground in the open plains, against the bumpy roots of ancient trees and caves. But at those times he had Bepo around to lean into. His thoughts inevitably went to his crew. He hoped his crew was far and far away by now, keeping themselves out of trouble and more importantly, safe—as safe they can be out in the New World without Donquixote family hunting them down. Before long he started turning his plan over and over again in his head, simulating possible factors that could go awry along the way and tried to come up with solutions to each and every one of them.

 

Sleep failed to claim him that night and the many ones that followed afterwards.

 

* * *

 

After two weeks sitting cooped in Caesar’s facility, performing surgeries on all the former prisoners and to Law’s surprise, a small band of pirates under Brownbeard, he turned to Caesar with an expectant gaze. “I’ve finished my end of the bargain. What about you?”  

 

Caesar’s slimy smile stretched out wider. “Well done, Trafalgar Law. Permission granted. Feel free to go wherever.” Caesar tried to look welcoming by throwing his arms open, expecting Law to lean in for a hug.

 

Law ignored the open arms, bypassed the curling coat that reached out to Law’s ankle, picked up Kikoku and was out of the operation room before Caesar could stop him. He passed the wards where his ex-patients were struggling on their new legs, clambering to the walls, the bed frames or the table for leverage.

 

With all of Caesar’s subordinates out of commission Law could begin his search. But not right away. Otherwise it’d be too suspicious. He’d rest up for one day and then make a list of places that needed a thorough investigation.

 

Law rounded the corner that led to his room and raised his eyebrows when he saw Monet leaning against the door. His legs paused mid-step and he frowned at her.

 

“I have a request.” Monet pushed herself from the door in a rather slow and deliberate way, dusting the skirt of her sleeveless short dress that stopped above her knees. She flipped her hair over her shoulder as her lips curled into a sly smile, “I want you to give me new legs and arms.”

 

**The End**

 

**Author's Note:**

> * dialogue of Law, Caesar and Monet meeting scene taken from mangapanda translations + anime.
> 
> * in my mind, Caesar speaks a bit slimy. 
> 
> * playing "Snow storm" for ten hours + [Monet's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LGATEyVVys) \+ [Lion Heart by SNSD](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVCubhQ454c) on repeat
> 
> * I read up a lot of leg injuries and certain treatments but since I’m not exactly a doctor or a med student some stuff kinda flew right over me so to make it work in fic, I just went for the most plausible argument. 
> 
> * The condition organophosphate-induced delayed neuropathy (OPIDN) can be read  
> [here](http://www.gulflink.osd.mil/agent.html), [here](http://emedicine.medscape.com/article/167726-overview), [here](http://www.scielo.br/scielo.php?pid=S0004-282X2002000600022&script=sci_arttext), [here](http://aerotoxic.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Abou-Donia-Organophosphorus-ester-induced-chronic-neurotoxicity.pdf) and Oda most likely based the prisoners' condition on [the Tokyo Subway sarin attack](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tokyo_subway_sarin_attack). Thanks to Mii for this!


End file.
